


Swan Song

by maharieel



Category: Mass Effect, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Blood, Death, Gen, get the tissues, just . . . pain and tears and lots of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 15:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7272838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maharieel/pseuds/maharieel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because the last acts are always the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swan Song

**Author's Note:**

> I cried while writing this.

Noa almost smiled through the blood searing within her as she shot the Illusive Man. In another place, under different circumstances, with the corpse of the sick bastard at her feet, maybe she would have. But not when she’d just used the same gun to take down the first person in her life who had looked at her and seen something beyond bloodstains and violence and failure. Take away Anderson in a crumpled heap beside the Illusive Man, and maybe she would have smiled.

She didn’t have time to sit and ponder what might have been. The world was slowly disintegrating into ash as she stood there, burnt and bleeding, and she was the one everyone was counting on to finish what she’d started years ago on Eden Prime. Personal pain aside, she had a world full of people holding their breaths for her to take the plunge. As much as she hated it – the burden of responsibility – this was her _one_ job. The _one thing_ she had ever been good at. Stumbling across the room, Noa brought a trembling hand to the console. The buttons were hazy and far too bright – she could barely focus on the right button to hit – but eventually she hit something that sent the Citadel sighing open. 

Dragging her slitted eyes upwards, she watched as the arms opened to reveal a world on fire. 

She vaguely heard a groan of pain behind her, and snapped her head around far too fast in her horrid state to see Anderson heaving himself into a somewhat upright position against a barrier. Noa wasn’t a holy woman, not by a long shot, but the sound of his breathing was the most sacred thing to ever reach her ears.

“You have – nine lives or something?” she grumbled, making her way over to him. 

His answer was cut off by her cry of pain as she fell down beside him, expletives exploding from her in every direction. “Speak for yourself,” he muttered. “Miss cybernetic.”

That got something that had once been a laugh out of her. “Not my fault – I attract – death.”

Noa expected Anderson to at least crack a smile at her pathetic excuse for a joke, but the hard truth behind her words seemed to hit him instead. His eyes lingered on the Illusive Man’s corpse a few metres away before turning to gaze at the view before them. She longed to know what he was thinking, but kept quiet. If they were both going to die, she didn’t want his last thought to be of her badgering him about something so insignificant as his personal thoughts. Let him keep them for himself. 

A jolt of pain seized up her arm. “Reckon it worked?”

“Looks like.” He heaved a sigh and Noa was reminded of his age, as if she’d never noticed it before. 

Everything fucking _hurt_ : the skin on her arm was curdling like milk before her eyes, bits and pieces peeling off as if someone was crouched beside her with tweezers and picking at it, and the fact that she couldn't even feel it anymore made her sick; her _other_ arm was twitching as the bullets in it messed with her nerves, her tattoos somewhat mauled by scrapes and burns as if they weren't already messy enough; and her face . . . well something was wrong with her eye and her entire jaw felt like it was about to snap off the longer she talked. And that wasn’t even the worst of it. Her armour was charred and fused to her skin just about everywhere else, and the only thing keeping her intact was a layer of medi-gel she’d dispensed on her way to the beam. The cool air on her skin would have been a relief, but Noa feared if she tried to remove anything, either she’d just melt into a mess of blood and guts, or the oxygen would just make the searing worse. _I’m so fucked._

“It’s uh – quite a view,” Anderson whispered.

Ignoring her crippled body, Noa took in Earth. _If you ignore all the flames and burning ships and reapers, I guess it is kind of nice._ “Yeah.”

“God, it’s been years since I just – sat down.”

The defeated tone of his voice disheartened Noa. Gone was the strength and courage and willpower she’d been faced with for the past fourteen years. Fuck, his voice was barely a whisper. _When have I ever heard Anderson whisper?_ He was all commands and support, never failure. And yet here he was, staring at his homeworld – at _their_ homeworld – as if the weight of every action in his life had wound down to a moment of resignation. Surrender. _Concession._

Noa coughed up half her throat and spat it out beside her. “Now’s not the time to – roll over and quit. Still gotta – take you to Chinese, remember?”

 _Now he laughs?_ “My score’s up, kid. We – we both know it. Better order - for me.”

Drawing her eyes from her burning world to the man beside her, Noa felt like slapping him. It was _her_ job to be the pessimist, the one who smoked weed and didn’t like following orders. _She_ was the one who gave up, who hated her life, who had the right to say enough was enough. Fuck, she had earned the right to hate the world the second she’d been left to scream in her grandfather’s blood. Of all the people the ghouls should have wished to feast on, she was the top prize. Not Anderson.

But he was giving up, eyes such thin slits Noa couldn’t even make out the brown of his irises anymore. She could feel something burning in her chest like wildfire, and for the first time in a while it wasn’t because of her sorry state. 

_He’s going to die. He's going to die right here and you know it._

“You did good, child,” Anderson muttered so softly Noa barely heard over her thundering, _screeching_ heart. “You did good.”

She pinched him on the thigh, an action so naïve. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

He didn’t seem to hear her though, which she supposed was a good thing, but he’d lifted his chin enough so he was looking her straight in the eye. Mouth agape, chest seeping blood, breaths as thin as they came, Anderson looked through her like he had the day they met. Whatever he was looking for, she hoped that it took him an eternity to find. 

“I’m proud of you, Noa.”

The words slammed into her full speed and she had to double over in agony as her entire chest constricted. A combination of physical and mental pain, for sure. Her arms and legs and chest were searing in flames and blood, but her heart was _screaming_. Like a banshee, full throttle, and with no sign of slowing down. 

“No you’re not,” she whimpered, not realising the tears had begun a while back. “I’m still the same fucked up mess of a kid you found in that cell. I was never anyone but her you – fucking idiot. I’ve just been taking it day by day, doing my – my job because that’s what you gotta do, right? Gotta do your job. But I never did it right. Ash – Ash died, Mordin died, Thane died, Legion died, everyone motherfucking _died_ and I – why would you be proud of that? I’m still a street rat, Anderson! I’m still a motherfucking street – street rat who doesn’t know her place and just turns everything to shit wherever she – she fucking goes! I never changed!”

_(In her manic state, Noa had never comprehended the notion that, all those years ago, Anderson hadn’t looked at Noa with the intention of breaking her into someone new. He’d looked at her as a little girl in a bad situation who just needed a hand that cared, rather than one that used. Her accepting his proposal to join him – and to, knowingly or not, take that hand – had made him prouder than he’d ever been, even if he hadn’t known her yet. He'd seen something worth saving all those years ago, and seeing her save the galaxy before his eyes confirmed his decision was the right one.)_

Through the sweltering of her heart, Noa felt something on her shoulder _(it had been there for a while, by then)._ She didn’t need to turn her swollen eyes to know that it was Anderson. A cry spiralled out of her, whimpers turning to sobs to choking to _heartache._

“Fuck, don’t,” she spat at last, bloodied hands holding herself together, as she realised she’d never thanked him once – not when he’d saved her from her life or herself, not when he’d supported her, not when he’d comforted her, not when he’d put up with her foolish attitude, not when he’d trusted her judgement without question, not when he’d offered his life for their home, not when he’d treated her as if she was his own flesh and blood.

Fourteen years, countless opportunities, and she’d wasted them all. And for what? She’d never thanked him once, and yet here he was, dead on her shoulder and still believing in her.

_And I couldn’t even say thank you._


End file.
